Years go by and I'm here still waiting
by CarDialGia
Summary: In a life of egoism and reckless success, is there a place for second chances?


**Years go by and I'm here still waiting**

DISCLAIMER: I don't own NCIS or CBS. This is just a fan fiction.

The lyrics are from Tory Amos- Winter

This is my first fanfiction and English isn't my mother tongue. So I'm open to constructive criticism and lots and lots of reviews ;)

* * *

Tony stared out of the window into the darkness. He took a sip of the strong liquor and started swirling it in the tumbler while he listened to the soft music that floated trough the dim light of his apartment. Dozens of pictures lay in front of him on the coffee table, disorganized, a mess.

He started to laugh. Yeah, he was a mess, too. All this suppressed feelings, all this self-loathing.. for what? It was a constant memory, a reminder of his destructive father. And as much as he tried to convince himself that he hated him, he knew, deep down, he still loved his father, for all the caring moments before it had happened, before he had changed...

_Snow can wait, I forgot my mittens  
Wipe my nose, get my new boots on  
I get a little warm in my heart when I think of winter  
I put my hand in my father's glove_

I run off where the drifts get deeper  
Sleeping beauty trips me with a frown

"Mom! Dad! It's raining cotton candy!", the little boy screamed as he ran around in the backyard, his arms stretched out towards the sky. "Can I eat it? Please!", he begged as his mother began to laugh and chased after him. The child squealed and started to bolt away. "No you can't eat snow Anthony!", the young woman with the silky brown hair smiled. "By the way, you ate three pancakes ten minutes ago", the dark-haired man smiled as he watched the scene in front of him. "But I'm hungry again!", the young boy begged again, snowflakes all over him, green eyes glistening in the midday sun. The beanie he wore couldn't quite cover the bushy brown hair that fell into the boy's forehead and made him look even more mischievous. The older man smiled even wider as his son began to throw snow up into the air and jumped around happily, trying to outrun his mother. Finally she caught up with him and heaved him into her arms, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. "No snow-eating today sweetie", she smiled and carried him towards her husband. "What are we supposed to do with the little glutton?", the young woman smirked, snowflakes in her curly hair, cheeks reddened by the cool winter air. "I propose, it is time for a little tickle attack", the man in his twenties stated in a serious tone, moving towards the duo. "No, no, no!", squeaked the young child, as he tried to get away from the arms of his mother. The parents laughed as they looked down at their vivacious son as he tried to escape his nearing tickling session.

_  
I hear a voice "You must learn to stand up for yourself  
cause I can't always be around"_

_  
He says when you gonna make up your mind  
When you gonna love you as much as I do  
When you gonna make up your mind  
Cause things are gonna change so fast  
All the white horses are still in bed  
I tell you that I'll always want you near  
You say that things change my dear  
_

Grumbling the ten-year-old boy pushed the front door open and pounded up the stairs towards his room. He groaned as he tossed his schoolbag in the corner and sank onto his bed. He hated school. He truly hated school. At least he thought so. He looked up as he heard a soft knock on the door. His father stood in the doorframe and observed him quizzically. "What's up son?", he asked after a few minutes of silence. The young boy looked away and rubbed his nose with the palm of his hand absently. "I hate school", he finally voiced his thoughts. His father sighed and sat down beside him. "And why would you do that?", he pressed. "I don't know." The child leaned against his father's shoulder and sighed as well. "I guess the kids in school don't like me. They say I'm only good at school because my parents are loaded." He looked up into the warm brown eyes of his father. "Is that true?" The older man smiled. "No, of course not. Don't start to question yourself and your abilities", he replied ruffling his son's tousled brown hair. "But they say.." The older man put an arm around the boy's small frame. "Listen. You have to understand that it isn't important what the other kids think. You have to rely on your abilities, to be more confident and stand up to those who underestimate you. You are an intelligent, talented student and there's no one in the world who can make you think otherwise, understood?" "Understood!", the child mumbled as he snuggled closer into his father's arms.

_  
Boys get discovered as winter melts  
Flowers competing for the sun  
Years go by and I'm here still waiting  
Withering where some snowman was_

Mirror mirror where's the crystal palace  
but I only can see myself  
Skating around the truth who I am  
but I know, dad, the ice is getting thin

The teenage boy stared with disgust out of the window into the backyard. Flowers flourished colourfully and the swimming pool glistened in the bright sunlight. How could anything look this peaceful, this cheerful after his mother had died? He snorted. As if anyone would consider his feelings. Who was he again? Some rich kid that nobody cared about? Ah, right. His father did not seem to acknowledge him at all during the past couple of weeks. He could understand that. He wouldn't want to have to deal with himself either. He was moody, reckless and unnerving. He got that from the few times he dared to interrupt one of his father's many business meetings.

He sighed as he realized that he was going to wallow in self-pity again. Yeah, his life sucked. His father called out his name. Great. Now he would have to deal with the drunken widower. Again. He knew he was being unfair. He could fully understand why his father started drinking. His mother had been a wonderful, kind person, full of love and live that she shared willingly with everyone who wanted to. He missed the warm-hearted banter that had filled the huge house back then, when she was still alive. Since she was gone, the house was silent, cold. The distant atmosphere was oppressive and chilled him to the bone. He missed his mother, who was gone forever, and he missed that part of his father, that had gone with her.

_  
When you gonna make up your mind  
When you gonna love you as much as I do  
When you gonna make up your mind  
Cause things are gonna change so fast  
All the white horses are still in bed  
I tell you that I'll always want you near  
You say that things change my dear_

_  
Hair is grey and the fires are burning  
So many dreams on the shelf  
You say I wanted you to be proud  
I always wanted that myself_

He watched as his father's hair got streaked with grey, as his eyes became red with fatigue and as his hands started trembling due to his alcohol consume. His self-pity began to wash away, the self-loathing started to build. He felt responsible for his father. It was kind of irrational but the feeling was there. He watched as his father became hollow, holed out by grief, and he felt, as if he could have done something, as if he should have done something. But it was already too late.

His father had become an alcoholic, hardly able to hold himself together. He had no power left to raise a child. Gone was the gleeful businessman who won all his associates over because of his cheerful soul. He was successful none the less but he didn't care anymore. His wife was gone and his son was a permanent reminder of that. It wasn't that he didn't love his son, he did, but he couldn't look at him without seeing _her_. He thought his son was better off without him and his drunken stupor.

__

When you gonna make up your mind  
When you gonna love you as much as I do  
When you gonna make up your mind  
Cause things are gonna change so fast  
All the white horses have gone ahead  
I tell you that I'll always want you near  
You say that things change my dear

__

Never change

How he wished his mother had never died, his father had never succumbed to grief. How he wished he had had a happy childhood, without sorrows. But life wasn't a fairy tale. He had to learn it the hard way. __

All the white horses

Yeah, Tony thought. Childhood dreams are called dreams because they are delusional. They are illusions that can never hold up under the harsh light of day. Deep in thought he took another sip from the tumbler and sighed. No, he didn't hate his father. It was easier to bury everything that had to do with his family, with his dead mother and the pain she had caused, in the depths of his mind, than dealing with his repressed emotions. He knew that. It had only taken some time to realize it.

He pulled out the letter out of his jeans pocket again and started to unfold it. Slowly he started reading, unaware of the hope that grew steadily in his heart.

_Dear Anthony,_

_I know it has been a while. I guess you wonder why I try to get in touch with you after all these years. To be serious, I have no answer that would make up for my inexcusable behaviour._

_I wish I had gotten to the realization earlier that I drove you away with my distant behaviour. It was never my intention to hurt you. I tried to protect you of my alcohol abuse and my mood swings. I am sorry that I couldn't give you the childhood you deserved, that I couldn't be the father figure you wanted, you desperately needed._

_My grief is no excuse at all because you had to go through the same misery and I left you alone, unprotected. I know it is a little too late to apologize but I wanted to do it anyway._

_I hope that it isn't too late to get to know my son properly. I made a horrible mistake by not taking care of you the way I should have and I don't want to make another one._

_Please don't get me wrong. I am not asking for forgiveness, I just want to keep in touch with you, if you like. It's up to you..._

This time it was up to him. Although he was still hesitating, he knew what his decision would be. He had missed his father, even though he wouldn't admit it. Holding on to the unpleasant memories of his father, like forgetting his son in a hotel during a business trip, made thinking of him more bearable, less painful. He picked up the receiver, dialing the number he knew by heart, while he glanced one last time at the photos on the coffee table, reflecting all these memories for whom he loved his father. As the familiar voice answered his call, he couldn't help but smile.

"Hey dad, it's me..."


End file.
